I felt suicidal this morning, so I stumbled outside and stood in the brinestorm. My sixteenth Sad Day party was scheduled for today. That's why I was suicidal, and also because I was born a pickle. All pickles kill themselves sooner or later. Anyway, back to my Sad Day party. Mother tried baking ...
From the ages of seven until about twelve, the heart of my angling fixation boiled down to one question: Can it be mounted? I wanted to hang a trophy on the wall beside my father’s ten pound bass and his pair of deep red Kern River rainbows. I collected action figures, football cards (at age ten,...